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by ecdysiast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecdysiast/pseuds/ecdysiast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Sexy and smooches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

Dean’s eyes flick mindlessly between the closed captions to the faces of the actors on screen, his fingers rubbing lazy circles into the heel of Castiel’s right foot as his own rests on the coffee table. The table is covered with loose bits of paper and water stains, a framed picture of the first time Cas donned scrubs, and a bowl full of fake fruit that Castiel insisted would “tie the room together.” If Dean was asked to describe it, he’d say it was perfect. It was decided long ago that watching his dramas on mute was the best decision for their collective sanity. If Castiel couldn't hear Dr. Sexy diagnosing a young, beautiful, and unconditionally trusting patient with a disease that didn’t have any physical tells before running her through the proper tests, Castiel couldn't find reason to set down whatever tome he was reading at the time to pester Dean about the factual inaccuracies of his favorite program. 

He sucks in a shallow breath as Dr. Sexy and his ever-loyal anesthesiologist draw closer together, the screen reading, “(DRAMATIC MUSIC PLAYS) SMITH: I've always loved you, dammit. I probably always will and you know it.” As the Fabio-esque surgeon brings his hand up to cup her face, Dean’s fingers momentarily still. He kisses her, the camera jumping around frantically trying to catch the scene from every angle. “DR. SEXY: Well, the doctor’s in, and he’s in for the long run.” They kiss again as Dean scoffs lightly, his hand fumbling for the remote before resuming its post.

“What?” Castiel prompts, his eyes never leaving the page. 

“It’s just…” one of Dean’s hands gestures accusingly at the now black screen. “He’s never been able to keep his promises before. Every freakin’ time she’s begun to trust him he’s either disappointed her or broken her heart, or both. And he hasn’t given her a single damn reason to believe it won’t happen again.” His face contorted in frustration, Cas allows him a look of mock-sympathy.

“That must be hard for you, Dean,” he muses, far too serious for the glimmer in his eyes. He pulls his book shut around a gold-threaded bookmark- one of Dean’s more successful gifts- before setting it down atop a stack of their favorite magazines. 

“Thanks for understanding,” Dean concedes with a smirk. They sit in silence for a while, Castiel’s eyes focused now on his feet in Dean’s lap, his hands folded comfortably in his own. Sighing contently, his gaze drifts up to meet Dean’s. 

Smirk growing, Dean pushes Cas’s legs aside and crawls onto the couch until their bodies are parallel, faded AC/DC shirt (vintage, he’ll have you know) brushing against stiff white fabric (Castiel never could wrap his head around the concept of lounge wear). Dean stays like this, watching the man he settled down with. Observing, rather. Taking inventory of the countless details that had torn him apart and put him back together so many times: the lips, cracked from a stubborn refusal to use chapstick; those eyes, infinitely deep and far too blue, the subject of poetic masterpieces and indescribable still; the hair, greying with age and no less rebellious of gravity than it was in his youth; the wrinkles, the razor burn, the nicks and cuts and imperfections. The signs of life. The millions of things that Dean wanted to know and worship and love for the rest of his life.

Castiel’s head tilted ever so slightly. “What?” he breathes, though his eyes know. His fingers grope reflexively at Dean’s hip, and the Winchester huffs a laugh.

“Nothing,” he assures Cas, his crow’s feet deepening as he smiles softly. “Just can’t stop thinkin’ about how much of a putz Dr. Sexy is.” 

They laugh at that, happy and stupid, as they gravitate towards each other. Lips on lips, they are lost to the world. While making out on the couch is so often related to a couple of teenagers who just figured out how cool tongues are, there is nothing desperate or hormonal about the way they move in harmony with one another. Dean thinks whoever said slow and steady wins the race had the right idea, and he slips an arm around Castiel’s waist to bring them ever closer, free hand making its rounds from Cas’s face to his neck to his chest.

They pull away eventually, because absolute infatuation is not yet a marketable alternative to oxygen, and Dean rests his forehead against Cas’s, their bodies fit together snugly as they breathe slowly. “You know,” Dean brings Castiel’s right arm up, punctuating his pause with a small kiss to the other man’s wrist. “I don’t think I say this enough-“ a kiss to the palm- “but I am totally,-“ the tip of the ring finger- “completely-“ the second knuckle- “in love with you,” he murmurs against the ring, eyes closed. 

Dean can’t see Castiel’s smile, but he doesn’t need to.

**Author's Note:**

> The rough draft of this was born a few days ago when I woke up at 3 a.m. after someone outside my residence hall started blasting Gangnam Style. I snuck into the bathroom to avoid waking my roommate and scrawled this lil' guy down in one of my notebooks. This is my first fanfiction, so be harsh as heck! I wanna get better. Title from one of my [favorite songs](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3Vf2g6WorE) of the same name.


End file.
